Contemplating the divine – Page 201 – Stories and pictures themed around female domination and male subjugation and servitude. Unsuitable for children, for alpha males, for hard-core practitioners with an interest in the politics of bdsm and the mechanics of complicated rope work. Of interest to perverts like me, basically.

More new endings for old tales

The Prince held the glass slipper in one hand and with the other gently supported Cinderella’s foot as it slipped delicately inside. It was a perfect fit.

He looked up adoringly at the golden-haired vision of loveliness seated in the chair in front of him.

“I knew such a divine creature as you was not born to labour all day in rags” he breathed. “From this day forward you shall live in a palace, as is your right.”

Cinderella smiled and nodded gently with satisfaction. Behind her, there was a swirling in the air and her Fairy Godmother appeared.

The Prince hardly noticed, as his gaze was drawn back down to the glass slippers. The perfect crystal of which they were made concealed nothing of the feet inside. An elegant ankle was gently cradled by the rim of the shoe, within which Cinderella’s feet arched delicately down to where her toes lay gently clasped within the transparent material of the shoes. The toes wriggled slightly, and – drawn by an impulse he had never felt before – the Prince’s head slowly inclined forward as he bent down to kiss them.

“What are you doing?” he heard Cinderella enquire, sharply.

He looked up in some confusion.

“I…I’m kissing the dear feet of my bride to be” he replied, awed at the cold beauty of her face.

Cinderella laughed, and kicked him sharply in the chest.

“Bride? I’m not going to marry you, you idiot. Marry a man? Nasty, sweaty hairy things. Never.”

And she gazed affectionately up at her fairy godmother, who reached down and gently stroked her hair. She clasped the outstretched hand in hers, and brought it softly to her lips.

“But…but…don’t you want to live in a palace?” the Prince stammered in confusion.

“Of course I do” she replied, scornfully. “But not by marrying you. That wasn’t the deal at all – was it Fairy G? Not in this fairy tale.”

And the Fairy Godmother shook her head, laughing, then waved her wand thrice around and the room filled with purple light.

When the Prince’s eyes recovered, he was amazed at the transformation that he saw. Above him, in the chair was Cinderella but now dressed as a prince in a suit – his suit! – of jewelled finery. She stood up, admiring her clothing with satisfaction. He looked down at his own clothing in confusion. He was in rags, wearing nothing but a torn and faded dress, with an apron tied around it. A gentle draught blew through the room as a servant opened the door for Cinderella to leave, and he felt the cold running through him as it curled around and under his skirt, chilling the unprotected regions beneath.

Cinderella turned to look at him. “The cleaning materials are all in the cupboard below the stairs” she smiled. “You’ll find it easily enough – it’s where you sleep.”

She turned to one of her servants (his servants!). “I think I want to interview all of those young ladies we’ve been seeing, all over again. Have them brought to my bedchamber. Let’s say…two, no make it three of them each night.”

And with that, she swept out of the room and the Prince was left alone, kneeling on the floor. But he was not alone for long, as the door to the hall was flung open.

“What are you doing loafing around there!? IF WE’RE NOT MARRYING THE PRINCE, THAT AT THE VERY LEAST WE CAN LIVE IN A HOUSE THAT’S PROPERLY CLEANED, CAN’T WE? AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE ABOUT OUR DINNER?”

The Prince looked up, to see the two rather statuesque ladies of the house who had earlier tried the slipper, standing before him. He opened his mouth to speak, but he found it had gone dry. He looked from one unsmiling sister to the other. Both were holding whips.

And Cinderella lived happily ever after. And so did the Prince, really, little pervert that he is.

The end.

Gyneolatry

An interesting word I found recently, that means pretty much what you’d expect it to mean really. And it’s very, very much what this blog is all about.

Mostly “love, honour and obey” covers it, but she has expanded the “obey” part, providing a bit more detail. Well – quite a lot more, actually.

Washing her husbands mouth out with soap

I’d tell you what the word was, but I’m nearly out of soap myself.

Always an optimist, that Orwell.

Not that it did Fred any good in the long run.

Men can be so unreasonable. Alice accepted the compromise after only a few hours discussion. She’s not happy, but she’s prepared to accept it.

Rendering homage

Wife is a bit of an exhibitionist and you're the exhibition

Don’t worry. You can just laugh it all off when you see them all tomorrow at the office.

Actually, it’s not as bad as that. After much pleading, she consented to let Andrew pay to be on the same pavement as her for five minutes, and she even left him with enough money for bus fare home. Heart of gold.

I think she’ll soon get the hang of it, don’t you?

No respect for dominated submissive and none deserved

Honesty is very important in a relationship. Many marriages are just a sham, with no real emotional bond. That’s genuine contempt she’s showing there, and she means it wholeheartedly.

Actually, he doesn’t know it yet but much worse things are going to happen to him in the future. The decisions about the brush gag are numbers seven and eight, tops.

Unforced labour

Actually humane killing is the best thing that ever happens to an OWK pony slave

They were so distracted they shot the wrong one first time – a perfectly healthy human pony. Madame Sarka was cross, as I expect you can imagine.

When your wife puts you in a ball gag theres only one thing to say

Mmmphh pppmmpphh arvvnnnng ggrgh!

Femdom wife submissive husband and two forms of healthy exercise

The exericse bike is good for his legs, carrying the concrete block around is good for his arms and getting the cane is good for his obedience.

If you like, you can pace about nervously. The time’ll go quicker than you think – you’ll see.

Leather dress high heels whats not to like

She hasn’t looked round, either. Don’t worry. She knows you’ll be there.

The sound of one hand clapping

…while the other holds you firmly across her lap, obviously.

Before we start with the captioned images of female domination, a big thank you to Bob (or possibly BOB), for all of the thoughtful, enthusiastic and just plain deviant comments he left over the last few days, on posts going right back to the start of the blog. I’m not going to reply to each one, but I do really appreciate people leaving comments, particularly positive ones (from male readers – those whose genetics are not ruined by the presence of y-chromosomes are very welcome to leave contemptuous abuse). Thanks Bob (or possibly BOB)!

Here we go then:

There’s something that doesn’t seem quite fair about the prospect of displeasing her through ‘getting whipped too hard’.

Mistresses Sidonia and Darla, of course. Extraordinary ladies. And just little old you to keep them amused. Good luck with that.

Fortunately there’s plenty. If you don’t get this, maybe you’ll recognise the socks and underwear you’ve got to wash.

If shes not a femdom golfer she certainly should be

Just look at that expression. Aren’t you glad you’re not Mark?

No, nor am I. Lucky sod.

Well, she doesn’t exactly say how many orgasms that was. It might just be one.

Obedience is bliss

Willpower…I lack it, She has it in abundance. There is a deal to be done here.

She makes the rules and enforces them too

He has so much to learn…

I think it’s the healthy outdoor air that’s the main attraction.

A whipping from each guard and then another

Silly really, because he’s paying a fortune to be there for the month – and there’s such a long waiting list to get in.

What are you going to give her for her birthday?

I don’t want to give the impression that anything too extreme is planned here. It’s just play. Fantasy. She would never really do it. Not without your consent, anyway. So just relax, and let her play. And if she asks for consent, and you’re not comfortable with the idea of being castrated at that time, you just say no. OK? And the next time she asks, well if you still don’t want to. you can say no again. No problem.

So, the secretary messed up, but you’re the one getting a spanking. Is that fair? I mean, just because they are the superior sex and we are insignificant maggots. Honestly, it makes me so angry.

Inamoratas

A lovely word. Seems a pity that the plural isn’t ‘-tae’ but who am I to argue?

Anyway, if everyone’s now comfortable with the grammar, we can put away our exercise books and contemplate the following divine inamoratas.

Secretary gives dictation and you have to take it

With apologies for returning to the grammar lesson, the feminine version of ‘dictator’ is presumably ‘dictatrix’, which is a word that I think should be used more often (mainly because it excites me).

Sexy dommes in unifrom with a slightly dodgy political subtext

Well, they’re far from home, poor things. It must be nice to find a friendly face, who can ask them about their day, instead of just screaming and begging for mercy.

Captioned image of female domination whose point escapes me for the moment

Dave is having a good hard think about his attitude too.

Caption femdom wife keeps her house clean with vigorous caning

I’d post a picture of the rest of the bathroom, but I thought you’d rather see her. It’s pretty good, though, believe me. Four hours well spent. Every Saturday for the rest of your life.

Captioned image of something thats probably copyright

Don’t ask me, I just write them…

Oh, by the way. If you’re still reading this blog then you probably like captioned images of female domination that try to go a bit beyond the traditional “Im gonna fuck you in the ass youre my bitch” approach. Or you just like the pictures (and I do try to keep the words out of the way of the good bits). Whatever, if you do then you are almost certainly going to like this: Celibate Hubby

At the time of blogging, the top one is actually one of mine (properly and kindly referenced, so that’s fine) but hardly any of the rest are, and I think they’re really good. My own personal favourites? Well, I’m glad you asked. This. This. Oh, definitely this. Mmmmm this. And many more.

Go on, there’s no more here today so you might as well head on over.

To err is male, to chastise divine

It’s some more captioned images of female domination. I really ought to write some more stories, but it’s difficult with only one hand free. Perhaps I need a strict schoolteacher standing over me…well of course I do.

Its not the crime its the cover up - well, its both really

Mistress Darla, of course, for whom the word “divine” is inadequate (a word that comes to mind often when I find myself contemplating her image).

Captioned image of huntress about to make a political point

The hounds haven’t been fed, and he’s going to be rubbed down with dog food first, so it should be a fine chase, while it lasts.

Captioned image of financial domination of a sort

I think it’s a bit risky. Start letting him choose the washing powder, and who knows what liberties he’ll take? One way or another, I’m pretty sure this will all end in tears.

OWK ladies generalkly dont have a high tolerance level for that sort of thing

At the moment this photo was taken, I believe he’d just heard himself utter the word, but wasn’t sure whether her English was up to understanding it. Rather a tense moment, as you can imagine. Let’s hope it turned out all right.

Dominatrix does not approve of men having opinions

My view on this picture is…well, irrelevant and unimportant I suppose. Sorry – I’ll be off now.

Faith, hope and chastity

…and the best of these is chastity. Here we go again:

Gets floors really clean just eight hours after going to work

Look at the shine on that floor! It only took him eight hours, too.

One of numerous reasons for sissy slaves to bend over

Always read the label. “Caution: contains pervert”

Minty fresh, with a slight hint of saliva

You can’t see it in this still photo, but she doesn’t even aim. Just spits in his general direction and it’s up to him to catch with the funnel. He’s quite good at it, now.

Men can make good pets - but keep them out of the office

At least she doesn’t bring any of that smelly dogfood in. Gives him a big bowlful before coming out, and that has to last him until the evening.

Of course, she realises you have limits. Every man has a point beyond which a beating becomes unendurable. She doesn’t need to give you a safeword – she can just tell. And that’s when it really begins.